A hand grabs her and pulls. It drags her backward across the slick rock and towards the churning, muddy shoreline. Overcome with exhaustion she doesn’t fight when the white man bends over her. His mouth is moving, but she can’t hear him and just over his shoulder a giant black wolf stares at her, she reaches for him, just as the world goes dark.
Simon Adams stares down at the young waterlogged woman and knows if the other soldiers find her, she will pray for death. Not sure what to do he hesitates and glances at the river. If this is a nightmare, Simon prays that he wakes up soon. They asked for volunteers to join in a mission, but this is not what he signed up for. When he voiced his opinion, he was told to do or die.
He was selective in his shots, only killing the men but General Barclay doesn’t tolerate weakness. They sentenced him to the end of the line, collecting the dead bodies and shooting any that survive. So far, she is the only survivor.
Glancing at the river, he notices a dead soldier. Some of the men wore their uniform from the war, but most wore regular clothes. Perfect! He strips the uniform from the body and thinking quickly, he cuts away the buck skin garment from her body and dresses her in the man’s clothing. Bruises litter her from head to toe, gashes, and a ripped thigh bleed freely, but he can’t worry about that right now. Panic fills his mind, at least one must survive. This is the devil’s work, killing women and children. She must survive. He feels as if his soul will be damned if she dies. Simon slips the too large cowboy boots on her damaged feet and picks her up, running to his horse. In the distance, he can hear the sound of the Gatling gun as they continue their slaughter of death. “What do I do Lord?” he prays.
Kimani comes too and starts to fight. A tortured wail erupts from her soul and Simon can barely hold onto her. “Stop!” he shakes her trying to make her understand that he only wishes to help her.
Her eyes fly open wide, and she stares at him. Large, green eyes filled with terror and loathing. Simon curses under his breath. “I don’t know if you can understand me, but if they find you, I won’t be able to help you.”
Simon tosses her on his horse. Kimani grunts and scrambles to hold on. When she grips her legs tight to the horse saddle her wounded leg rips and burns. Glancing down at it she sees the red stain seeping through the course fabric. She gasps, realizing what she’s wearing.
Before she can speak, he holds up a wide brimmed hat. “Hide your hair, it will be a sure giveaway.” Unholstering his colt pistol, he lifts it and has to grab the reins to keep her from reacting. “Take it! Ride hard and don’t stop for anything. We will head west. I suggest you ride south to avoid us. The saddle has rations for two days,” Simon glances at her when she takes the pistol and points it at him with a trembling hand.
Hatred flickers across her face and fills her soul, but the sorrow in his eyes causes her to pause. “It’s no less than I deserve,” he whispers stepping back from her.
Kimani’s eyes flick behind him when the sound of horses approaching warns her. “Thank you,” she whispers hoarsely just before pulling the trigger, shooting Simon in the upper arm. Two riders appear as he shouts in agony and falls to the ground. Kimani shoots in their direction causing them to take cover.
Silence fills her with terror, and she kicks the horse, riding in the direction he suggested.
Blood stains his arm, and he struggles to his feet, watching her ride away. Two soldiers thunder towards him and one leaps off his horse to help Simon, the other follows her.
“What happened?”
“I came across a woman, wearing Claude’s clothes. She must have stripped him and stole his gun,” Simon hates to lie, but he also doesn’t want to die either.
“More like, killed him.” The soldier spits on the ground and glances at the pile of dead Indians Simon has been accumulating. “She stole your horse?”
“Nah, got Claude’s. I was working a different section of the river.” Simon groans and clutches his arm to stop the questions. “Need to see to my arm,” he gasps.
“Take my horse, General Barclay will be happier if we bring some scalps back. You can tell him about the woman escaping,” he spits out a wad of chew and grins with his black tar-stained teeth.
“Great,” Simon snaps and shouts as he climbs on the horse.
An hour later, the man calling himself a doctor has wrapped his bicep and declared the bullet passed through. Simon is sweating on the cot, praying for the whiskey to make the screaming outside stop when General Barclay enters.
“Heard you got shot, Simon. Are you doing okay?” His softly spoken words are a front. The madness boils beneath the surface, and Simon knows he’s always on the edge of releasing it.
“Yes, sir. Just a flesh wound, right?” He laughs and reaches for his flask.
The barrel of a pistol stops the flask from reaching his mouth. Fear has Simons eyes opening wide.
“No. I need you lucid. The woman who escaped, tell me about her.”
“It happened so fast, sir. I think she was pretending to be dead, that’s why I didn’t notice her at first. I was dragging the bodies to a pile like you ordered. She snuck out and grabbed the horse, I
